The Punchline
by AlwaysEatTheRude21
Summary: Sleep walking is mostly innocent. However for wizarding kind, it's a touch more problematic. Harriet Potter has the misfortune of going through what the healers call sleep apparition. In a very Potter twist of luck, she of course attracts trouble. Harley and the joker despite all the crazy, know a good thing when it pops out of nowhere, and refuse to let go. Joker/fem!Harry/Harley
1. Kansas

~Chapter one~

...Definitely not in Kansas...

Harriet Potter should have been having the time of her life. No questions asked, no eyebrows raised, no snide or sarcastic remarks. She should have been like all her fellow students, those that had faced the war at least, drinking, laughing, partying away the sordid and nightmare inducing memories that came from one of the darkest times during their long, long, history... But she couldn't. _No_ , she could if she tried hard enough. That was just the excuse she clumsily told herself. The truth was she wouldn't. She didn't _want_ to.

It had been a year since that nose-less bastards downfall. Twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Eight thousand- seven hundred and sixty fucking hours, and by Merlin almighty, could Harriet feel the tick of the clock in the very marrow of her bones. Not because she was anxious, scared or paranoid that the snake-who-kept-coming-back would do so again. No. The horrid truth, the one she tried so valiantly to retain and restrain was simple but all the more brutal than a crucio aimed at your spinal cord.

 _Harriet Potter missed the war._

She missed it with every fibre, atom, cell and microbe in her body. She missed the slight swelling to her jaw from the stinging hex Hermione had hit her with to keep her hidden from snatchers. She missed the deep cut on the palm of her hand from holding onto that dragon from Gringotts too tightly. She missed her scraped and scabby knees from where she would fall to the forest floor, crushed under the weight of having to carry that insidious locket around her thin neck. She missed the fingerprint bruises on either side of her head from the time Voldemort had nearly crushed her skull and she had sent them both flailing over Hogwarts demolished bridge. She missed it all and more, however, what she missed most was one defining factor that was integrated into every animal, no matter how intelligent or evolved.

Live or die. The fight. Knowing out there, anywhere, somewhere, there was someone as smart as you, as lethal, as quick handed, who wanted you dead before you could kill them. The age old life lesson of kill or be killed. Though, the wise old men, the white coats, the bloody people who sprouted that shit never told you one thing. How addictive it all was. The fact of the matter was Harry missed Voldemort.

Harry knew she was beyond fucked up for feeling anything remotely like that. Hence the savior of the wizarding world mask she so diligently wore around everyone and everything. The act of the feeble and broken hero who just wanted to live a normal life, hiding the bloody maw of the snarling lion underneath, caged and prowling, waiting... itching to sink it's teeth into anyone... everyone. You know what they say, once an animal has tasted blood, it will bite again and Harry's gums positively ached with the need.

It seemed to her, she was built for war and mayhem, not peace and democracy. Her age was gone, finished, and either she could adapt or fade away. Maybe it was Freud coming to fruition. The countless tales of the victim becoming the abuser. Harry didn't know, she wasn't a damned psychologist. But she was changing, had been all along, morphing into those that had moulded her with too tight of a grip until instead of a beautiful sculpture, she was nothing but a hideous, gnarled lump of flaking clay. Vernon, Dumbledore, Bellatrix, Umbridge... Voldemort. In the lessons of manipulation, violence, and unspeakable cruelty, she had the best sculptists and teachers to be found.

The signs had been there all along really, sitting there obtrusively innocent in broad daylight. it wasn't her fault no one spotted them, nabbed them in time to cut the bulbs off before they became pretty, poisonous flowers, as deadly as they looked. Sending that python after Dudley when they visited that zoo. Harry bloating aunt Marge with accidental magic, the sectumsempra aimed at Draco, the horror, but more importantly the flare of absolute glee at seeing the cowardly ponce bleeding profusely on the bathroom floor... Damn it, she had even crucio'd Bellatrix, or at least tried to. Tried, very, very, very hard to...

As ironic as it sounded, even to her own ears, it was no secret that Harriet Potter had deeply rooted secrets. It was just no one was smart enough to question what they were, likely believing them to be the woes and worries of every other girl her age. No, they couldn't fathom sweet, abused, orphan Harry could be anything but the wronged hero who triumphed despite the numerous odds stacked against her. They saw her in a backdrop of blinding light, light that blotted out her true features, leaving the viewer to make them up themselves.

They believed Harry had stepped up against Voldemort for the good of their world, for all the little witches and wizards with rosy cheeks and sparkly eyes, the selfless fight for good when really, Harry did because she had no other option, she had been backed into a corner by the same people who sang her praises now, as false as they may be. She had stepped up because revenge for everything Voldemort had taken from her, burned deep and hot in her gut. She had stepped up because, with some minuscule changes of fickle fate, she was Voldemort and Voldemort was she. She and Tom riddle, two sides of the same coin, and with both their egos demanding it, being so alike, only themselves or each other could, or would be allowed to put the other one permanently down. It was suicide, magnificent and opulent in its own twisted, polluted and diseased way. But... She no longer had Tom Riddle any more. She had no tails to her head. She had no shadow, no other her... No one to fight any more. She... She was alone in the big wild world.

Then again, that was what Harry excelled in wasn't it, hiding in plain sight? Painting the picture of a perfectly calm, tranquil even landscape, only when you took a gamble and edged closer, looking behind the trees or buildings, or really and truly looked at the painting Harry presented you with, did you see the shadows too dark, large and imposing, the sunless sky, the too sharp of edges and non-existent curves, the faceless mass of people, the single shade of red she used that was so dark and rich, it could be nothing but blood. People, including those arrogant and bigoted purebloods, only ever saw what they wanted, and unfortunately for them... Or Harry, she hadn't decided yet, seeing the truth wasn't what they wanted. Funny that. She painted in blood red when Tom Riddle had painted in Avada Kedavra green. Red and green, If they had have worked together, she wondered what terror filled Christmas they could have made.

However, Harry was trapped and caught in life's net just as much as the next witch or wizard. Despite the advantageous and rare order of Merlin she had been awarded for her war efforts, cue scoff, she was the damn war, the start, the dead, the blood and cries of pain, the finish, all of it. Or the praise poured over her when she eventual did make a public appearance, they wouldn't praise her so much if they knew she still pictured their horrific deaths on more than one occasion, some by her own hand, especially those Malfoy's. Or all the gold she had that she wouldn't be able to get through for several lifetimes, she cared very little, if at all for wealth. Or the fast track to a prestigious Auror position, that one she could live with if it meant she could carry on fighting, fuelling that soul-deep need, none of it was what she truly wanted. It was laughable really, they all believed they were bequeathing her with everything she would ever want or need, when in stark reality, it was everything and anything but that. It was all the things that kept her trapped and injured, a lone wolf nursing a broken paw, her den with iron bars.

What Harriet Potter wanted, no, that word was too loose describe what she felt... What she needed was somebody else like her. Somebody like Voldemort, somebody she could class as a foe once more and wage that war that had never left her, even when Tom Riddle's body fluttered away like ash in the wind. That twitching and nerve lighting need to fight something, anything. She needed someone to go to the same extreme lengths she would and all too willingly go. She needed someone who didn't cage their lion but set it free to hunt out on the populated streets of life. She needed a teacher, a friend, a seer, a mirror image of what she would look like if she let go... She needed someone with secrets like her own. More importantly, accept her for just who she was now without that damn mask and fake pleasantries she hid in.

She needed someone to understand her.

Maybe, just maybe, that was the how, why, when and where that her little adventure, or epic spiral downwards if you asked certain people, took place. The punchline of the joke? It began innocently, with nothing more than sleepwalking. Or the wizarding world's version of sleepwalking and like many other tales, began unassumingly, disarmingly on the tail end of a blazing argument between had been friends.

Harry, dressed in nothing but a baggy tank top that had seen better days and some boxer shorts, her makeshift pyjamas that evening, sat perched on the edge of her bed in Gryffindors sleeping dorms, a reprieve for the evening of helping the mundane rebuilding of the lower bowels of Hogwarts that were still in disarray despite a year having passed since their destruction. Her eyes were closed, her hands laying limply on her knees of her crossed legs, restraining herself from snapping at the bushy haired witch that was currently passing in front of her, complaining about this and that, despite Harry having told her four times already to leave it alone so she could get some well-earned rest. If you didn't look close enough, you would have thought the red-haired witch was sleeping, or made of painted ivory.

"You're just not listening to me, Harry! Going straight into work, forgetting about your education... What are you thinking? What happens if this Auror thing falls through? What if you find out in a few months or a years time you don't like it? What will you do then? You won't be able to change jobs with no qualifications to your name! Have you even told Ginny? You can't just expect... You haven't been the same for a while now. Ever since you-..."

Hermione's rant pottered off to a stop, fizzling out of steam as quick as it had picked it up. But that didn't stop Harry's biting and burning retort, barked from clenched teeth, her eyes snapping open and zeroing in on the flustered witch, to stare incredulously at a flushed faced Hermione Granger. The girl in question had enough sense to take a step back from the scorching glare.

"What, died?! I bloody died Hermione! You would think a little thing like that would let _me_ decide what I want to do with _my_ life!"

Harry's nostrils flared and she had to take a moment to take a deep breath to quell her anger. If she didn't, she didn't know what she would do to the only other occupant in the room, and therefore her only walking target to take her rage out on. She had been through this her entire life, and quite honestly, was downright sick of it. How was it so many people thought they had a say in her life? That they could dictate what she would or wouldn't do? How did they think they knew the best for her when they didn't really know her any more, or if at all? It didn't matter, not when Harry pulled the straps on her mask tighter and fell back into the placating friend role she had mastered down to a T. Still, her sarcasm and ill temperament bled through her words like puss through a bandaged wound.

"It's alright to say it Hermione, it happened. I died. Have you ever died Hermione? No? Well, come back to me when you have and tell me to my face it doesn't, or hasn't, changed anything about you at all. Maybe it's time you take those rose tinted glasses off and really look around you if you think any of us are what we used to be back in first year. Just... Just leave, please. I'm tired, I want to sleep. It's been a long day."

Hermione scoffed and folded her hands onto her hips, raising her nose into the air, cheeks puffing as she got ready to let loose a torrent of a lecture on the importance of education or some other shit Harry wasn't in the mood to listen to. She was tired, beyond tired really, and all she wanted to do was sleep, having only grabbed an hour or two here and there in the last five months. She was growing more and more restless as the days ticked by, and restless Harry meant angry Harry, and angry Harry wasn't going to be putting up with this for much longer, even if Hermione thought she was just looking out for her. Dumbledore had thought the same, and look what he had done? Raised her up, let her live with the Dursleys, let her fester in the hate and lonely abyss so when the right time came, she would willingly die. A piglet to slaughter.

"I can see perfectly well thank you! It's you who has not been paying attention! It's no longer a war Harry! You need to let it go! Everyone else has-"

Harry jumped off from the bed and stalked to the smaller witch with long strides, practically shoving her own face in the brunettes, lips snarled in a mocking smile as she glared down into honey brown eyes. If she didn't leave in a minute, Harry would make her and Hermione's little sit down with Bellatrix in Malfoy manor would look like a tea party in comparison with how angry Harry was getting. How many times had they had this same conversation? How many times had Harry told her patiently to leave it alone as she ranted and raved at her? How many times would someone try to push Harry in a direction she didn't want to go?

 _No more._

"Oh, you see do you? So you see Ron drinking himself to sleep every night? You see Neville nearly passing out or firing off spells when a flash of light happens? You see how Luna has practically locked herself away? Do you want to know what I see Hermione? When I look at you?"

Harry pulled back slightly, eery bright green eyes still locked onto Hermione's, her flame red curls loose and wild, cascading down her back as she took a step back and let out a humourless laugh. If calmly asking Hermione to leave wouldn't work, if sitting through these rants day in, day out didn't work, them maybe some home truths would. Hermione opened her mouth to give a sharp retort but Harry beat her to the punch.

"I see the same girl I did in first year. That needy, sanctimonious, self-righteous, bint that didn't know when to keep her mouth shut. That's why you're so hooked on education isn't it? Why you just need to be the best in everything. You still feel like you don't belong. That you need to show everyone else that you deserve a place here just like they do. You bloody preach equality, yet you want everyone to treat you and bow down to you like Merlin himself gave you too us. News flash Hermione, you're not that fucking important! In fact, you're insignificant in nearly everyone else's lives. You'll be remembered as the girl who was smart, that one who didn't have many friends because she couldn't be bothered, or worse, was stupid enough to not look up from her book every once in a while and look at the real world! The only reason you want me back at school is so you won't be alone, so you can still be known, so people will still remember your name because we both know you'll be forgotten about soon enough without my face beside yours. Because you will, I know it, you know it, everyone knows it! And you know why you'll be alone Hermione? Because we've all changed, we had to! We've all grown up and you're still that bushy haired, clueless, self-important eleven year old you've always been! Maybe you should focus on your own friendless shambles of a life than mine! Just maybe Malfoy was right all those years ago, maybe you are just a dirty little mudblood who only became something more because you latched onto me like a leech!"

Harry's breath came out ragged, hitching in places as she blinked rapidly, ignorant of where that had all come from. But that didn't matter, not when she saw Hermione's face crumble, tears misting her eyes, body shaking as she sucked in her own jagged breath. Did she... Did Harry just call... Oh, Jesus. She didn't mean it, she really didn't, it just came out, all of it just came bubbling out like a shook up can when you pop the lid. Harry stumbled closer, hand raised to grasp at Hermione's shoulder, tongue already twisting around the apology's about to come spilling out like a biblical plague, but Hermione had already jerked violently away from her, storming towards the door. Harry could only watch, wide-eyed and slacked jawed as the door slammed shut behind a hastily retreating Hermione, leaving her to the deafening silence.

Harry finally pulled herself together, and after a rather vicious rub to her eyes and a shaky hand running through her tangled curls, Harry sighed heavily and flopped onto the bed, curling up in the fetus position, knees drawn in tight to her chest and stomach, hand still clasped around her wand. It was too late, the words still hung in the air like the smell of rot and Harry couldn't take them back. Even if she did feel guilty about it, instrumentally so, it still had the desired effect, she had been left alone to breathe for five minutes, an absolute rarity these days. God, if her parents could see her now... But let's be real, they would have been disappointed and ashamed of her years ago, this was just another notch on her lengthening belt in that regard.

So, with the same caution and weariness as she so often felt in twilight hours, Harry drifted off to a fitful sleep, feeling like she wanted to be anywhere but here, somewhere free, somewhere she could let loose and not feel bad about it, somewhere with secrets as dark and ominous as her own. When Harry finally felt the tendrils of sleep curl around her and snag her under into the darkness, she was already too far gone to hear the crack of apparition, the tube-like pull through space, the dizzying sickness, or the change in fluffy bed to leather back car seat.

However, the blankness of dreamless sleep she always had, another thing she shared with Tom riddle, the inability to dream, didn't last long as a loud voice rang out, causing her to jerk and blink wearily at the change in lighting, surroundings, the thick American accent and the face a mere foot away from her own.

"Hey, pudding! Look! It's a fairy!"

Harry Potter frowned as she pushed herself up into a seating position, hands fisting tightly into the luscious leather underneath her, realizing she was on the back of what looked to be an expensive car, as garish and gaudy as it was, with a, quite frankly, equal parts beautiful and crazy looking woman smiling broadly at her from peering over the front passenger seat, practically bouncing where she sat, loose blonde curls blowing in the chilly night wind from the open car windows. Harriet didn't pay any mind, instead soaking in the neon colours around her, the realistic sounds of cars and a bustling night-life city they were zooming through, wondering if this is what other people dreamt about, or just her.

Her musings were cut short, however, as it seemed blondie didn't have any patience and reached out for her, fingers flexing in excitement. The act was instinctual as Harry sent a quick stinging hex to the woman's hand, which in turn made her snap the limb back with a comical ouch and giggle. Only then did it seem whoever the woman was talking too took any interest, or Harry belatedly noticed another person with them, as another head took up the space the woman had just vacated. Harry wasn't afraid to admit her eyes must have doubled in size at the visage that greeted her. The man was handsome no doubt, if you tried to picture him without the white face paint, red lips and neon green hair, or the glittering suit jacket he wore... Or those metal grills that flashed in the cool blue light as he grinned manically at Harry. Well, let no one say she didn't have imagination if this is what her mind conjured up when it finally did decide to dream.

"Too tall for a fairy. Looks more like a ginger Alice. Yeah... A spritely Alice. Get it? Hahahaaa!"

Harry's head turned to the side a fraction, like a curious puppy as one eyebrow rose high. If this was her dreaming state, what did that say about her sanity? Or lack thereof by the looks of it. She opened her mouth to speak but a blaring horn rang out in the relative silence, and only as the man snapped back to grab a hold of the wheel of the car, swerving drastically to the right, causing Harry to slide along the leather seat and hit into the car door to her left, did she feel the sting of pain against the side of her head as it thwacked into the car window. Harry hissed and rubbed at the spot, cursing under her breath. No one had told her dreams could bloody hurt. Of course they didn't, when had they ever told her anything of importance? Harry was once again snapped back to this weird but wonderful dream-scape when the man's voice rang out from the front seat, the blonde woman's face back to where it was before Harry had hexed her, smile just as insanely brilliant as it was before.

"Hey Alice? Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

His voice drew out some of the words longer than others, and others came out sharper, snappier, almost like a nip from a dog, beckoning, baiting. The woman's voice was cheery, fluid but escalated in pitch the longer she spoke, almost making everything she said sound like a question.

"Yeah Alice, why, why, why?"

Okay, that answered that question. Harriet Potter was certifiable insane. Really, if this was her subconscious trying to talk to her, that was what dreams were, weren't they? Then she should be institutionalized. When Harry did speak, uninterrupted this time, her voice was calm and even, despite the mad happenings around her.

"I'm not a fucking fairy... And they both have legs."

The reaction was almost chemically instantaneous as the two in front of her, the man still facing the windshield and road, driving like a lunatic, and the woman beaming that smile her way, laughed boisterously at her answer, swivelling to face each other and not the busy road in front of them. However, this time, it was the blonde who spoke instead of the still hysterically laughing madman her mind had painted. Did he represent her caged lion? If so, in short, she was fucked if she thought she was keeping it captive for much longer. Maybe that was the point of this dream?

"They both have legs! Bingo, we have a winner! And a Brit! Ding, ding ding! Now Mr. J won't have to blow your brains out like all the others he's asked this week. I'm so glad... Hey, Pudding? Pudding!"

The blonde woman whirled around to... Mr. J was it? And began to shake his arm excitedly as his laughter died down to a chuckling rasp. All Harry could really muster up was watching avidly, feeling a bizarre sense of joyfulness sluggishly fill her up like pouring cream.

"Can we keep her? Can we? Can we please pudding?"

However, Mr. J never got to answer as there was an ear ringing bang, the roof above them indented, nearly crushing Harry in the process and finally, the two in front's smiles dropped like glass plates to concrete. Harry's adrenaline started to pump and thrum through her veins, the drop in the carnival-like atmosphere nearly sent her into a chill, her fingers tightening around her wand as she looked up, dark smile creeping onto her face.

Now this was a dream she could work with. There was no mistaking that electric current running through the air, letting Harry breath better, feel better, feel more alive than she had since the battle of Hogwarts a year ago... A fight. Now she could let loose, safely in her dream, where no-one was going to get hurt. Maybe she could dream again, maybe she could keep her lion locked up, maybe she could save those urges until the safety of night blanketed her and her mind drifted back to this fabulous make believe land again.

And so, when the window across from her, behind the blonde woman blew and rained glitter like shards of glass into the car, when a humongous black armour clad hand and arm reached through, towards her, inches from hoisting her out of the car by her shirt, from the shattered window, Harry didn't have to think all that much about her answering curse aimed at the black shadow at the window. After all, what harm could she possibly cause in her dream?

"Bombarda Maxima!"

A lot apparently as not only did the shadow man go flying off into the night in a cloud of orange sparks and dust, but he also took the back car door with him and some of the rear boot. Mr. J swung the car into a spiral, trying to right it after the blast knocked it off track, but even over the flaring horns from other drivers, the squealing of burning rubber tyres on tarmac, Harry could hear him and blondie laughing their heads off, she was even able to pick up some of the words Mr. J howled out through his laughter.

"No, not Alice! She's Dorothy! Hey, didn't you get the memo? It's meant to be red shoes, not hair! Hahahahaaa."

However, as the two were laughing, the car still out of control and heading towards a shop lining the street, Harry dived between the two front seats, leaning over the laughing green haired man and took control of the wheel, spinning it in the opposite direction in hope of levelling their path out and not end up crashing into a building. She didn't fancy waking up just yet, and as bad as it sounded, even to her own ears, this was the most fun she had in... Well, her life, even if it was a dream with two obviously crazy as sin people her mind had brought to wondrous life.

"Well at least I know how to fucking drive! Shit... It's not working. Just... Don't be sick."

Being so close, Harry could feel his cool breath fluttering across her cheek and tickle her nose, although, he had no time to question what she was on about as she let go of the wheel, clasped both his and blondie's shoulder and right before they slammed head first into the shop, Harry apparated all three onto the side-walk a few feet back.

Of course, the warning of not getting sick did nothing, as both he and blondie bent at the waist and heaved when their feet finally hit cold, slightly damp pavement. Thankfully, they both seemed to have iron guts as nothing came bubbling up and spilling onto the side-walk. Though, as always in Harry's life, the respite was short-lived as some form of wired boomerang twisted around her, pulled taunt and she was sent sailing backward, back hitting metal chest harshly, forcing the air to rush out of Harry's lungs with an oomph and groan.

Her eyes swam momentarily, the lights from the city swirling around her before finally righting into fuzzy shapes that took longer to take form. But once they did, Harry glanced behind her and up... And up... And up. Apparently what had grabbed her and sent her careening through the air with what looked to be a modified grappling gun was a man... A man dressed in thick cavalier black armour... In the sharp edges and points of a... Bat. _Yes, a bat._ What was her mind up too? Actually, scratch that, there was no point in questioning anything in this dream any more. C.S Lewis had nothing on her brain.

"Hey Bats! That's our fairy! We found her first, go get your own!"

And that was Blondie's voice shouting from the other side of the side-walk, from where Harry had been standing just moments prior. Then it all clicked, what her dream was trying to show her, what this whole mad message had to be. Her laughter didn't go unnoticed as the big man, still holding her tightly, glanced down to her with a grim set to his sharp jaw, the only attribute she could see from his fully guarded form.

"I get it. You're the manifestation of my hero complex, greeny over there is obviously my recent decent into cuckoo-land and blondie... Well, I don't know, my sexual frustration maybe? But this dream is bloody insane, I've learned this whole Dumbledore-esque lesson, be a good little witch and all that. I think I'm ready to wake up now."

The man, the one standing at her back, hand tightened on her arm, almost bruisingly so, his voice gruff and gravely... Fake as he spoke to her, voice more than a bit condescending.

"You are not dreaming, but you soon will be. You can thank me later."

Then there was a sharp pain in her neck... Sharp and quick, like a strong pinch and only when her eyes flickered down did she realize what this man dressed like a bat had done. He had injected her with something. And just as she was about to begin cursing and hexing the bastard, the world once more began to swim, and in a quick procession, six things happened at once before Harry blacked out.

One: The two crazies from the car ride from hell began shouting.

Two: Mr. J pulled out what Harry blearily thought was a gun and shots rang out.

Three: The arm around her, and rope, loosened as the big bat thingy let go and dived for cover in a flap of cloak.

Four: Harry's gut churned violently, everything blurring. Idly, she wondered if this was what waking up from a dream felt like.

Five: Harry fell to the floor, scraping her leg as she skidded on the moist pavement stone and Harry realized she was, in fact, not quite ready to wake up just yet.

Six: And just like before, as Harry slipped under, the crack sounded, the pulling came, and in that busy street of Gotham, a place Harry would soon find out was very much real and not her imagination running overtime to resurrect in dream land, Harry apparated.

In the morning, when Harry finally pulled herself from the comforts of her Gryffindor bed, when she tumbled down the stairs to a ready and waiting Ginny, who was adamant they were dating when Harry had told her countless times she wasn't ready to label anything, having shared only a kiss or two and a grope here and there, who looked prepared to ambush her, already rattling off questions of what her and Hermione had argued about, having seen the brunette leave last night in a flurry of tears. When Harry told her to forget about it, she didn't want to speak of it, when Ginny sequestered and backed off, leaving Harry to walk to the kitchens to grab a quick bite to eat, Ginny said something that made her momentarily stall.

"Well, the least you could tell me was where you got that bruise from on your head and that nasty scrap on your thigh. Did Hermione do that? Look at what she did to Ron when he upset her, Merlin knows how she gets violent when angry."

With a muttered and dazed, _bruise... Scrape?_ Harry touched her head, hissed and looked down at her leg, the same leg she had scraped in her dream where she had fallen... A dream that was quickly growing hazy and distorted like watching a film from underwater. Staring incredulously at the scrape on her thigh, she shook her head and brushed it all off.

"I must have been sleepwalking. I used to do it as a kid, I haven't done it in years though..."

Harry carried on walking, and despite her thinking that would end the questions, it only furthered it as Ginny jogged to keep up with her.

"Sleepwalking? That's dangerous Harry! You need to see a healer to get it sorted out before you end up in a place you can't get back from. Fred did it once and ended up in the black lake, he nearly drowned."

Now, if Harry had have just questioned why it was so dangerous, she would have found out the differences between muggle sleepwalking and the wizarding kind. Alas, she didn't, and it was exactly two weeks later it happened again, but this time Harry found out the hard way that it had never been a dream to start with. Ginny's ominous foresight and warning should have given her heads up, for she couldn't come back from where she went, and the nice bullet hole through her shoulder and razor-edged bat-shaped throwing star lodged in her calf as the police surrounded her with laser pointers flaring her chest bright red drilled the point home.

She definitely wasn't in Kansas anymore...

* * *

 **Should I continue, or not?**

A.N: I know, I should really be working on my other stories, but I've just started a new job and well, times been hard to find. Plus, my theory is if I get all my Ideas out, the ones that are nattering in my ear as I try to write for my other stories, it should be easier to flitter between them and update them faster instead of writing things that just never get published.

But if you do read my other stories, fear not. I See You only has five hundred or so words left to right up and Purple Haze is on its way.

So, I hoped you liked this, and if you have a spare moment or two, please review as they let me know if I'm actually spending my time on something worthwhile or not. However, I'm still not sure about this fic, so please let me know if you want me to continue this or not.

As always, I hope you have a fantastic day, keep beautiful!- AlwaysEatTheRude21


	2. Bang!

**_~Chapter two.~_**

 ** _~The Best Jokes Start With A Bang~_**

* * *

"Come on Gin, tell me! Just one. Everyone has them."

Harriet Potter goaded from her place on the couch in Grimmauld place, sprawled out on the short sofa, bare knees, ankles and feet dangling off the edge, head of deep fiery curls comfortable nestled on Ginny Weasley's lap as she smiled up at the equally grinning woman, eyes wide in an act of puppy-like innocence as one of her hands idly played with the long necklaces that just brushed Ginny's belly button. It was one of her rare weekends off, and instead of spending it suffocating in the memories that Hogwarts halls slammed her with, Harry had decided to abscond to her getaway and lock the world away for some beautiful hours of respite. Well, that had been the original plan, until Ginny had taken it to invite herself along and with that light grin of hers, tears misting her eyes when she spoke about needing some time away from the Burrow... away from the memories of her deceased brother Fred, while already standing on Grimmauld's door step, Harry Could hardly say no. She wasn't _that_ socially inept.

"Not all of us are as layered and complex as you Harry. You give onions a run for their money. Honestly, you already know all my secrets."

Harry scoffed, but her smile grew toothier, the smooth quarts crystal at the end of Ginny's necklace began to roll faster between her thumb and forefinger subconsciously as she fiddled with it. The only outwards tick that showed she didn't find Ginny's answer amusing, despite her outward appearances, but as an irritant. Not quite bleach in the eye, nore as something as inconsequential a pins and needles, but an annoying niggle stuck between the two, with a heavy dose of exasperation.

Out of any one Harry knew, surely it would be Ginny to hide something buried inside her, ashamed if it ever saw the light of day? After all, Ginny had Tom riddles Horcrux speaking in her mind for almost a year, whispering the same potent sludge Harry had listened to since she was one and was made a Horcrux herself.

It wasn't that Harry wanted Ginny to be a deatheater incognito. On the contrary, Harry liked Ginny just the way she was. Ginny was good, soul deep and sky high of the nearest purest white, on contrasting ends to Harry's own murky waters. So much so, it was sometimes hard to look at her, hard to touch her, hard to be around her without wanting... needing to stomp her own dirty boot in that crisp snow and taint it forever.

Harry half mindedly wandered if Ginny's magical aura felt the same if she ever bothered to send her own out of her prison of a body and brush against hers. Then again, it wasn't like she would be doing that any time soon. No, you let your magical core out to feel another's, or even a muggles core, or soul as they called it, it made attachments to what fitted it best, what it liked the feel of, smell of, taste of, sound of, what clicked into it like a puzzle piece and really, Harry didn't know if she could take it if her own core revolted and spasm'd in disgusts against Ginny's. But let's be real, if anyone's core was going to shrink back and recoil in sickness, it would be Ginny's against hers. It didn't help the matter that, if especially fitting and bindingly good, it was classed as marriage in her world. Accidental linking or not. No wonder it was nicknamed a soul kiss.

Harry would bet Ginny's looked like mauve perfumed smoke, heavy, sultry and just barely there, a phantom that teased you into reaching for it only to realize you can't grasp it. It would feel warm, like a cindering log in a large fireplace, it would smell of spices, the type that clung to your nostrils and made you breath in deep, cinnamon, clove, with a small burst of mint. It would feel like velvet, soft and silken stroked the right way, but rough and course if rubbed the wrong way. So very, fundamentally, irrevocably not like her own.

Of course, she had only one person tell her what hers felt like, as no one could feel, see, touch or taste your aura, including yourself, unless it was the person reaching out for yours. And at the time Luna had been in a hospital bed, sickly pale with purple flourishes under her wide distant eyes. It had been an accident of course, a reaction of flaring her own aura out when Luna had bewilderingly thought it to be a great idea to push her own out to meet Harry's during a divination lesson. It's how Luna had ended up in the hospital bed after all. Madam Pomfrey had said they had reacted so violently... well Harry's had, that it had nearly stripped Luna's into sparkly sequinned ribbon. Still, Luna's dazed, glazed eyed description still left Harry with a haunting feeling.

Apparently it had started out nice enough, shiny and polished, reflective like a mirror, showing only was was shown to it, camouflage in retrospect to what happened next, but with the texture of snake scales. beckoning Luna to touch it with her own. Only, when the pale blonde did, it, that shiny mirror-esque shell, the pretty façade had exploded into sharp shards of glass, tearing and ripping their way through Luna's. It had smelled sharp, poignant, like bleach with hints of elderflower, a smell Harry knew all too well. Basilisk venom.

Though she understood the feel, look and smell of it, it was broken glass, triangular shards that cut fast and deep and showed no mercy, because Voldemort had smashed her own soul to bits to shove a chunk of his own in there, it smelled of Basilisk venom because in a way, that was where and how she was reborn from phoenix tears and cold onyx stone, and she supposed being bitten and injected with it didn't help matters, but what she didn't get was the taste and sound of it, not at all if Luna is to believed, or Molly Weasley when Harry had questioned her about parts of your magical core that doesn't fit you, or make sense. Molly had simply gave her a romantic drivel about how it hinted to your other, your one, your true fucking love and Luna still couldn't look Harry in the eye.

According to Luna, Harry was still debating whether she could trust Luna's description, it tasted strongly of bubblegum candy-floss with a hint of pop rocks and sounded, at the time Luna had to hum the tune as she had never heard of it before, but Harry had and it left her even more confused than the bloody taste did, and that was saying something.

... _Pop goes the weasel._..

So what? Her magical core, her soul, the very essence of all she was, is and will be, tasted like cheap fairground sweets and sounded like an messed up jack in the box that played too slow? The four things, fundamental words, she could be whittled down to was poison, broken, cheap and deranged? How delightfully disheartening.

"Harry? Harry, you in there somewhere? Almost lost you in that big noggin of yours then."

Harry snapped to at the sound of Ginny's chuckles then, smattering that smile that everyone loved so much on her face, despite it being as real as a Nargle was. She had been doing that a lot lately, zoning out, getting lost in her own tumultuous hurricane of thoughts. But still, she just needed to know. If Ginny was hiding something, a speck of dirt in her vibrantly white world, then maybe, just maybe, she had found someone who could understand. After all, the one thing that linked them was they had both been touched by Tom riddle and he always, _always_ left fingerprints behind.

Tightening her grip on Ginny's necklace, fingers twisted in the small chain, Harry tugged her down, reached up and played with a lock of hair that had fallen free from over Ginny's shoulder, smiling her best, eyes dancing, dimples showing... faking the front. But what was new?

"One dirty little secret. One little thing you've never told anyone else before... come on Gin, don't you trust me?"

At Ginny's lovely, homely, lit grin, Harry's stomach sank further down, even if her heart did pick up pace in anticipation of the answer she could possibly receive. She had reached a new low, even for her. Using Ginny's obvious feelings against her, and for what? So she wouldn't feel so cold and alone any more? But that was the thing, the point of all this, it balanced on this one answer, her and Ginny's future resting on the point of a needle. If there was something, anything, no matter how little, they could be together. Harry was sure she would come to love her... given time. If not, well, this is where the road ends. Harry may have been tumbling down this dark rabbit hole since Tom riddles demise, but she still had enough decency to put her foot down against her own warring emotions and say no, she would not taint Ginny. Ginny... supernova, starlight Ginny deserved better, so much better, a lot better than what dark, lonely things Harry could offer her, as measly as they be.

"Well, there was this one time..."

"Go on."

"I snuck into my parents room, while they were sleeping. I knew I shouldn't be doing what I was doing, but I just... I really wanted to."

"What did you do Gin?"

"I stole..."

"What did you steal?"

During their conversation, they had leaned closer and closer, lips almost brushing, breath mingling,becoming one, light giving way to darkness, like night did to day every turn of the earth. Ginny's eyes were glazed over, lost and away, for if she had have looked, if she had have just focused those pretty blown pupils she would have seen how clear, vibrant, alive and totally in control Harry's eyes were. However, Harry's heart was about to rip a hole in her chest with how fast it was jack hammering in her rib cage. She had been right, Ginny was shaded, she did have something, a small ominous grey cloud above her. They could be together, Harry could finally open up and not have the other person run for their lives. This was it, acceptance, understanding was seconds away...

"My mother's make-up. I got it all over the place, the walls, the clocks, there's still lipstick potion stains on the front room rug, no cleaning spells have been able to remove them. I got into so much trouble, mum went-"

Crack. The crystal in Harry's crumbled and broke under her fingers, blood and crystal fragments mixing together. Ginny startled at the loud noise, snapping back to reality like an elastic band, while Harry pulled away from Ginny like she had been burnt, physically, mentally, emotionally. Of course Ginny had no dark corners in her soul, no nooks or crannies to hide things, hers wasn't a labyrinth of foul things like Harry's and yet, once again, Harry had dared to hope and got hit in the solar plexus for her efforts. Harry slid of the sofa in one fluid motion, coming to a stand, she walked a few feet away, keeping her back to the confused girl behind her.

It was better this way anyhow, people like her belonged in the dark, not showered under starlight or moonbeams. Harry brought herself some time to find the right words by shoving her thumb in her mouth, the finger that was cut, and sucked to stem the bleeding, liking how the little splinters of crystal that had been lodged in her thumb came free and cut her tongue too, the sting keeping her grounded to the earth. Harry could hear the soft footsteps of Ginny following, but turned and pulled away further before the other woman could touch her.

"Harry, you honestly can't be pissed about it! I was six! All six-year-old's get into mischief like that."

 _No, I never did. Aunt Petunia would have hit me over the head with an iron if I even thought about going near her things for something other than cleaning or tidying._ Harry didn't voice this however, as it was pointless, just another wedge driven home to lengthen the gap between her and Ginny, blaring out how different the two were, both standing on different sides to a vast rift that was life experiences. Her thumb left her mouth with a wet pop as Harry squared her shoulders back and swivelled to face Ginny head on, it seemed it was time to face the music.

"Look Ginevra, maybe you should head home. You're not the only one who misses Fred. You mother needs you... your family needs you. Just go."

Harry could practically see the spark of indignation light up Ginny's brown eyes, the flush raising to her cheeks prettily, the puff of chest as she spluttered her own comeback... And Harry almost sighed in happiness that it was aimed straight at her. A fight was surely coming, big or small, verbal or physical, it didn't matter, it was something to keep the blood pumping. These spats were the only thing keeping her going this days.

"Ginevra now is it? Don't Harry. No one else may see what you're doing, but I do. I see right through it. I know why you called Hermione that word, yes I do know, she told me. I know why you haven't visited or at least owled Ron in five months. I know why you haven't come over to the burrow in just as long. You can't fool me. I know you... or at least know some of you. You can't push everyone away Harry. You can't push me away with the same stupid tactics you use on other people. I won't fool for it."

Harry stood stonily still, strange lump clogging her throat as if she had swallowed a too big of a mouthful and it had lodged there, unable to clear her airway. Surprisingly, even in the numb state Harry was feeling, her voice confusedly cracked and hitched when she spoke. Why did it hurt to breath?

"I've changed Ginny."

Ah, that would be why. Honesty, the full blown truth never did come to Harry easily, especially in an instance of admitting something that felt so very much like a weakness. She really should have let that blasted hat place her in Slytherin, at least then she wouldn't have to put up with all these feelings, truth and openness as she did surrounded by Gryffindors. But for Ginny, her bright eyed lovely Ginny, she could and would put herself through this, it was the very minimal thing she could offer her, but thankfully, one of the things that she wanted to... Gift Ginny with that wouldn't land her in an Azkaban cell.

However, Ginny's face crumpled, folding in on itself like an origami structure that was too heavy to be made out of tissue paper. One step, two step, three step and Ginny was in front of her, tears in her eyes but too stubborn to fall down her freckled cheeks. Stubborn like the girl crying them as she reached out with one hand, palm settling against the side of Harry's face, fingers ghosting across her jawline and into her hair, palm clammy but cold against Harry's heated flesh.

"We've all changed Harry. We can get through this. I can help you through this. Together. Just... Please, don't do this. Not now after all we've been through."

And that horrid lump in Harry's throat turned to granite and strangled her, causing her own eyes to mist over, even with the sad smile that graced her lips as she finally looked Ginny in the eye, mirroring the girls movements so she too cradled Ginny's face.

"We both know It hasn't been for the better..."

Harry's voice was gruff and harsh, sounding more at home on a forty year old smoker than a seventeen, nearly eighteen year old girl. Instead of a rebuttal, a useless denial or more pleading, for once Ginny surprised her as her eyes clamped shut tightly and her head nodded. Then, with a soft tug on the back of her neck, Ginny pulled Harry's head towards hers, forehead Against forehead, simply resting there as Ginny spoke two words that sealed everything in cast iron.

"I know."

Harry didn't know how long they stayed like that, heads leaning upon one another, standing in the middle of a desolate and dusty Grimmauld place simply breathing each other in, but it was Ginny who broke the silence with a whisper on an exhalation of breath.

"I love you."

That was the dagger to Harry's heart, the twist, the salt, the pain and infection. Because she simply couldn't say it back, couldn't, for once, lie in that bared, naked moment and by Ginny's broken chuckle, Ginny knew. Then Ginny was gone, the warmth, the mauve, the spice, the smoke, and Harry was alone, hand still hovering in the air before she opened her eyes and let her hand flop uselessly to the side as she dissociatively watched Ginny stroll to the parlour room door, yanking it open, one step out the door before she peaked over her shoulder to Harry, tear tracks on her cheeks seemingly glowing iridescent in the early morning light.

"One thing Harry. Just one. Promise me you'll go out for a little bit, locking yourself away isn't doing anyone any good. I couldn't bear it if... just promise me."

Harry's answer was almost unintelligible in its low and utterly broken octave and pitch, but by the sharp shake of Ginny's head, the steeling of her spine and subsequent quick departure with a resolute bang, she had heard loud and clear.

"I promise."

Harry only let herself react once she heard the Crack of Ginny's apparition from the other side of the door. With a burst of magic, a fling of her arms and a shout that sounded more like a war cry than a sob, the room, one of Sirius's favourites, turned chaotic before settling into tranquil destruction. The tables flipped, the paintings tore and fell of the wall, the sofa smashed into the corner of the loud room, the heavy velvet blue curtains set themselves on fire, one eggshell wall even cracked, but most importantly, Harry fell to the floor on her knees, breathing shakily.

Cold, alone, numb. This was what she deserved. Where she belonged. Only fools hoped and dreamed of impossible things, and Harriet Potter was no fool. She wasn't upset because she had strong feelings for Ginny, though that was a part of it, she was so angry and volatile because she had to do this. Because, sometime soon, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold back much longer and when that day did come, when Harry well and truly fell down the precipice she had been walking her whole life, it was going to happen in blazing hell-fire and spells being shot, and really, she didn't know if she was going to come out of it breathing, but she sure as hell knew she would be taking fuckers down with her and she wouldn't, couldn't allow one of those to be Ginny.

To be completely honest, she wasn't that angry or upset that it had happened, that Ginny had left her to rot and smoulder in the shadows. No. She was beyond pissed about how it had all gone down. No fire, no acidic remarks, no shouting, no yelling, slaps, punches, bruises. No fight whatsoever. She wanted a fight, she wanted Ginny to rain down upon her for the simple need to retaliate with her own licking flames. She needed it, she wanted it, she prayed for it. It was an outlet, a tap she could turn on to release some of that pent up anger and darkness and Ginny... Ginny had taken that away from her, snatched it with her calm attitude before Harry could even call it her own. Harry's eyes clenched shut, a shake taking over her form that rattled her to the bones. What did that say about her, that she was more upset over a loss of a could have been fight than the actual girl that had resolutely walked out of her life? It said a lot, too much to bare yet nothing at all.

In short, Harry was tired of fighting herself, her wants, her wishes and needs, especially when everyone else got to indulge in them, and she knew one day she was going to be too tired, too sick, too wanting to put up much of a fight, which was waning more and more each day, and bite into madness's decadent temptation like Eve did with the apple. It wasn't a matter of if, no, it was a matter of when and Harry could faintly hear the ominous tick of the clock striking down upon her like a blow.

She, however, could never guess just how soon that final tock would come, where her restraint broke like a dam and let forth every slight, every fat fisted punch, every curse, every derivative remark, every push, shove, tug and yank that she had ever endured that she had housed inside her for so long, to come spilling out like a tidal wave in search of retribution and revenge. The day Harriet Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, defeater of the greatest dark wizard, snapped. And it all trickled out of that one, single promise.

With a self deprecating huff of annoyance, Harry roughly pushed herself up, stormed over to the large fireplace, doubting the still burning curtains with a flick of her hand, slid in, grabbed a hand full of floo powder and with a snarl and throw, Harry was engulfed in green flames that were only a shade more vibrant than her own.

"The Hogs head Inn!"

* * *

"Harry, Lass, I'm going to have to cut you off if you keep drinking that fire whiskey like it's bloody spring water. That's your third bottle and merlin knows I ain't made of the stuff."

Harry's teeth ground together as she stared straight ahead, staring intently at a broken shelf that was still miraculously holding up its contents. _Huh, seems like she wasn't the only cracked thing in the pub after all._ The man beside her, just over the bar she was perched on, cleaning an old wooden flagon with an even older cloth huffed at her when all she did to answer him was pick her bottle back up, down a good few gulps and as always, fell back heavily on a sarcastic diverting remark.

"Of course you are Aberforth, you own a fucking pub."

Aberforth barked out a laugh, the sound so deep and loud Harry was sure the walls of his dingy old pub would shake along with it. Then, all fell back to silence as Harry carried on her drinking and Aberforth carried on his cleaning, or, what he classed as cleaning that is. It was only after Harry drew close to the bottom of her third bottle that she broke the silence with a question that even surprised her, thankful that the Hogs head inn was desolate, housing only the two of them. Apparently, a late Wednesday afternoon wasn't prime drinking time. What a surprise.

"Abe... Is Dumbledore... Was Dumbledore always so..."

Aberforth looked up from wiping down the bar with the same holey cloth he had used on everything else, hand stalling in movement as he blinked over at her. Harry in turn had still not removed her eyes from that damn shelf, not sure whether she was refusing to stop looking or if she simply couldn't.

"What? Self righteous, egotistical, whimsical prick who-"

"Light. Was he always so... Good?"

Aberforth straightened up and from Harry's peripheral vision, she could see the deadly sombre and serious nature his face had taken on, making him look even older than he always did. He dropped the cloth to the bar with a dusty, wet, plop and when he spoke his tone was even, though whispered, drifting to Harry through the drafts than ran through the old wooden beams of the rickety pub, chilling her even more than she already was. Though the wind had no hand in that, she was always so cold lately.

"My brother was a lot of things lass. And I mean a lot. Whole good, I'm afraid was never one of them. No one really knew who he was before the whole Grindelwald fiasco, but I remember perfectly clear. They used to be friends you know? Yeah, real good friends. More than that I think. No, I know they were. Back then my brother was as far from good as spit was from wine. Who did you think it was that helped Grindelwald come up with his plans, his contingencies, his thirst for power? Yeah, they shared that last one really well my brother and him. Then our sister died and well... You know the rest. The thing about dark magic Harry is once you've touched it, it's touched you back and that's a stain you can never get out, a stain you won't want to get out. My brother was good in the end I suppose you could say, despite all his wrongs and manipulations. But I could see it, every damn day I visited him, every time I looked into his eyes... That inner fight was always there, always battling, two halves trying to fight for control. The good and the bad."

Harry breathed in shakily through her nose, the atmosphere feeling like it was closing in on her, squishing her, destroying her, tearing at chunks of her skin until she was nothing but an exposed nerve in the middle of a snow storm.

"But... But he did the right thing... Right? He mended his ways, I mean... That's what matters doesn't it?"

Aberforth's laugh, while still loud and blusterous, lacked all warmth and humour. His words bit even further into her, taking more and more and more, taking the ground from beneath her feet, making her feel like she was about to fall into a chasm, right into the middle of the earth to be engulfed by molten lava. Funny thing was Harry wondered if she would be warm then or still this icy shell.

"Aye, he mended his ways Harry, but he died for it didn't he? And, as bad as this sounds, I'm happy he died when he did. Merlin knows how long he would have carried on, what was it you called it, doing the right thing? Look at it this way, if it was the right thing he was bloody doing this whole time, then why are so many families, so many lives in tatters, destroyed, because of what he had said and done? No, my brother was one of the poor fuckers who had that call to the dark inside him and sooner or later, he would have fallen back on that. They always do."

Harry's temper snapped, zinged and lashed out, slamming the bottle onto the bar, nearly shattering it in the process, Harry's eyes finally tore themselves away from that shelf and locked onto Aberforth, her top lip curling slightly over bared teeth as she snarled at the larger man beside her.

"But he did fight it! He fought it and won! Who's to say he wouldn't have carried on winning?"

There it was, that fire inside her, the anger, the rage, the pent up energy coming out to play, warming her up from the inside out. It was the only way she could gather any warmth any more, and that... That was frightening, because Harry knew, just knew, if she really let go of the reigns on her anger, that bubble inside her, her lion, it would leap free and hunt, bite, claw, rip and shred it's own bloody path. But she couldn't let it, she wouldn't let it.

However, instead of Aberforth loosing his own temper, something Harry secretly wished so it could fuel her own, he smiled and Harry froze into place. It wasn't a friendly smile, nor sarcastic or derogatory, it was the worst of them all. It was a pity smile, the same fucking emotion glistening in his eyes, looking at her, aimed at her. She didn't need his bloody pity, she needed resolution, hope, a chance that whatever she was feeling, whatever she was becoming, became, she could fight it back, push it down, lock it up. That she wouldn't fall, she wouldn't fail, she wouldn't become Tom Riddle.

That dark insidious voice inside, the dark things that whispered and pleaded to her with, her mangled and distorted conscience told her it was too late, she was already so much like him, all she was missing, or had that he didn't, was a nose. What's one more thing on her long list of sins? If there was no hope, she may as well let go of that ledge she clung to so tightly and fall into the abyss. Did she even really hope there was a chance, or was she looking for a reason to say she never had another choice but to let go? Just another excuse to shove her blame on, an absolution of guilt? No... No! If Albus Dumbledore fought it, she could too. She wasn't Tom Riddle. She had to believe that. Aberforth's words extinguished that fire building up inside her, leaving her alone in a starless night.

"Because lass, the few who do feel that pull always fall. Salazar, Grindelwald, Tom Riddle, Bellatrix, My brother. It's not a matter of if, it's always a matter of when. And really, if you call what my brother did to you, to the students, to the wizarding world good, I would hate to see what you class as bad. Don't see my brother through rose coloured glasses Harry, call him what he is. He was a manipulator, a person who saw people as chess pieces. Even when he thought he was doing the right thing, that darkness crept through in his words and actions. But then again... You know all about the inner struggle to keep the darkness out don't you Harry? This conversation isn't really about my brother... Is it?"

Harry jolted and pulled her hands away from being braced on the bar. With less elegance than normal, she slid of the bar stall, stumbling slightly next to her seat, unsure whether it was because of her frantically beating heart or the copious amounts of alcohol she had just downed. It didn't matter, not when she stuttered a little and determinedly turned her back to walk out of the pub, away from Aberforth, away from this conversation, away from the truth of it all. She was an excellent runner anyhow.

"I... I don't know what your talking about."

Her hand landed on the door, ready to push it open and storm out when Aberforth beat her to the punch, his voice ringing in her ears, not because of the loudness of it, but for what they meant pieced together.

"As I said lass, I grew up with my brother, I saw the very same fiery fight dancing in his eyes everyday as I see in yours now Harry. You can't fool an old foolish man. There's a reason I've survived two wars."

The shelf, the one that was cracked right down the middle, the one she couldn't look away from broke, sending bottles of drink tumbling and smashing to the floor behind the bar, weather because Harry's magic flared out, or the timing was just coincidental, Harry didn't know, but she did know her voice rose above it all, the crack and splintering of glass, the sharp yelp of Aberforth, the screeching of snapped wood.

"I am not Albus!"

Spinning around, Harry was met with a sight she didn't think she would have been. Aberforth was pressed to the wall, the bottles, while broken during their fall, were now all hovering in the air, broken sharp ends pointing directly at Aberforth, pinning him to the wall. Choking on her spit, Harry's temper simmered back down and just like magic, pun intended, the bottles fell back to the floor. She had done that... She had nearly hurt Aberforth, goat loving, hearty Aberforth. That was her, not Dumbledore, not Tom riddle, not Umbridge. Her. Harry could practically feel one of her hands that were holding on for dear life to that imaginary cliff slip, leaving her dangling there one handedly.

"Just a word of warning Harry, you can't fight it, you can't keep it locked up forever. When you fall, you're going to crash. Take my advice, get away from those you love when you do. My sister died because my brother didn't. Shame really if you make the same mistake."

"I... I... I need air."

Harry left the pub as if Voldemort himself had sprang out of the wood works. Apparatting home, thankfully not splinching herself, Harry never made it to the bedroom, instead she fell onto the broken sofa of the room she had destroyed earlier that day, and with her swirling turmoil, her recoiling mind, her slipping control, she did the worst thing she could have possibly done in that moment, something that would seal her fate, her fall, her descent, her splintering sanity and control.

She fell asleep.

* * *

Her first splash of awareness came quite abruptly and harshly. A stout and strong kick to the ribs, a hand fisting into her hair, dragging her, being thrown to concrete ground and a blinking confusing jolt into the waking world. Groggily, she pushed herself up onto her knees and hands, glancing around her with squinted eyes. Bricks, towering metal silo's filled with some form of liquid and men in suits standing around her, their faces coming in and out of focus, her awakening and the previous alcohol she had consumed not helping her focus any more than she already was. Was she dreaming again?

The hand was back in her hair, at the base of her neck, yanking her head back, forcing her to kneel at someone's feet, face looking up at the man in front of her. Then, she felt something cool, hard and cylindrical press to her temple, and with a quick flicker of her eyes, as far as they could go to the side, she saw what was being pressed to her forehead. A gun. She had a fucking gun to her head!

"What are you doing here? Who do you work for? I would start speaking doll before my associate here blows your brains out."

Harry frowned and blinked back to the man towering over her. He was the only one in a white suit, three piece, plum coloured silk handkerchief folded neatly into his pocket, early middle age at a push. He really didn't fit into the gloomy and factory like surroundings they were in. In her confusion, the world still slightly spinning around her, Harry parroted the man back his own question.

"Who do I work for?"

She was insane. She had to be. These dreams... Wait. Ginny had said it could be sleep apparition, whatever that meant. Was this real then? Was it a dream? Dammit, she felt like she was on a landslide, reality falling away from underneath her feet. However, the ringing pain in her jaw as one of the men, the one holding the gun to her head, backhanded her, making her head snap to the side in a flurry of pain, told her this was most likely real. Which meant she was surrounded by muggles, wizards would never lower themselves to the use of guns, in some unknown place, maybe even a different country, being... What? Interrogated?

Harry really couldn't help the half crazed laugh that bubbled out of her throat at the thought, her shoulders shaking under the pressure. Interrogation, what a joke. She had Voldemort terrorizing her in her own mind for years, this... This was a fucking walk in the park, cute ducks included. Her head was tugged back into place and the gun resumed its home too, though this only made her laugh harder. She couldn't seem to stop now that she had started, even when she felt the trickle of blood run down her chin from the hit she had just taken, that pleasant ache of an oncoming bruise blooming on her bottom jaw.

"I'm telling you boss, she's one of the jokers. This just proves it. Who the fuck laughs with a gun to their head?"

A flash of something fluttered across her eyelids as she blinked, red lips, silver teeth, green hair, but it was gone before she could grasp the slippery image with her fingers and hold it. It only made her laugh harder, her sides starting to hurt under the spasm now. Did any of this matter? Real or not, someone was pointing a gun to her head, her ego and pride didn't like that very much. No, they didn't like it at all.

"You're right, she's most likely one of Jokers. Put her out of her misery so we can go back to uncle Falcone."

Slip, snap. The man on her left pulled the hammer back of the gun and then, only then, did Harry stop laughing. Real or not, she couldn't take the chance of getting shot in the head. Unfortunately, even witches and wizards couldn't bounce back from that one. But that meant she would have to put up a fight... A fight. It was what she wanted, what she needed, what she craved. Yet somewhere inside, that shrivelled little part of her that still tried to be good, told her if she started, she wouldn't be able to stop. She wouldn't stop in time, she would take it too far, she would use spells she knows she didn't need to use, but she wanted to use. Really, really, wanted to. She would kill. That, even she knew, was the final step, the letting go of the edge, the thing that would make sure she could never turn back, never be who she was before.

"Please."

It was odd and disorientating how one second she had been laughing, so joyful and humorous, now she was pleading, begging on hushed breath, tremors taking up shop in her bones.

"Ay, look at that, the dolls begging. Go on sugar, plead for your life."

They were wrong. So wrong. She wasn't begging for her life. She was begging for theirs. She was so close to falling, so close, this would be that tiny shove she needed. If she used her wand, if she lost her temper, this was it, she wouldn't be able to stop, she wouldn't want to stop. Even now, her teeth where trying to bite off the tongue that was trying to spare herself from this. Spare them from this. Her voice broke as she spoke.

"Please. Please don't do this."

Looking up to the serrated metal ceiling, Harry tried to picture the sky, blue and cloudless. She tried to picture her mother and father. She tried to picture Sirius. She tried to keep a hold of everything and anything that would keep her back, the things she had loved most in her short life. When the men around her laughed, seven around her in total, the clouds came, the storm crackled and their faces morphed into a laughing Tom Riddle, mixed somewhere between his school years and that of how she knew him. A hybrid, a monster, a boy, a shadow that haunted her, taunted her, made her miss him. A mongrel of her own minds creation of him, her thoughts, feelings and attachments she had made and his reality. A mistake like her.

Harriet Potter needed no sympathy, no, the people around her needed sympathy for being in her vicinity. Harry's heart froze, her chest clamped tight as did her fists, her muscles preparing, waiting, hoping to strike. This was it. Whatever this men did next, whatever they said, or did or chose, would either be the hand reaching down to help her climb back up into the light, or the foot that stomped on her bone taunt, tired knuckles.

It was show time.

The muzzle of the gun being pressed into the side of her head with extra pressure, the sound of the trigger about to be pulled and the men's laughter killed whatever left over restraint she had. Her fingers flexed, her wand appeared and then she was in movement, apparatteing behind the man who had just been about to kill her, appearing just as the gun fired with an ear splitting bang. None of it logged in, none of it registered, not when Harry started firing spells, spells which wouldn't kill them outright, but would hurt more than any thing they had ever felt, known or imagined before. All she could hear were their screams, their pleading, their begging, the sound of her heart thumping, the thrum of her blood and... Yes, she was sure she could distantly hear her own laughter bouncing back at her from the metal containers and walls.

It was just like her connection to Voldemort, flashes before closed lids, the barest hint of taste and smell. Like it was her, but wasn't, she was there, but wasn't. A phantom bound in flesh, possessed, uncontrolled, temporal... Free. One moment she was firing the spells, the next she was standing outside the building, a petroleum factory, she had been right, watching as the building burst into flames, crumble, burn and flutter away into the early nights air. Her wand lowered, the spicy copper taste of incendio still on her open lips. Her shoulder hurt like hell, sending lightening bolts of pain down her spine.

Distractedly, she glanced down at it, seeing the blood splatter, the torn shirt and leather jacket, the warmth of still flowing blood blanketing her right side, down her shirt. Red. The colour of Gryffindor, of fire, of blood, of Voldemort's eyes. Shot. She had been shot. Dazedly, Harry lifted her fingers up to touch it, her ring finger digging into the hole, making pain flare to unadulterated life. She liked it. Then the sirens came, acting like a synthetic bass to the symphony of havoc she had sang that had never smiled so big, four little words twirling around her mind, broken in tune, like water going down the drain.

 _Pop goes the weasel._

* * *

A young man, no older than twenty-five at a push, breathed in deeply, hiding his shaking hands in the pockets of his dirty hoody as he nodded to the bouncer and slipped into the golden lit club. Slipping into the large crowded dance floor, the man bought himself some time to try and word what he had to tell his boss. The right words meant he got to live, in what condition that was, well... That was still debatable with the way his boss was. One word wrong and he would be getting a one way ticket down to a toasty holiday down south. He rather didn't fancy that option.

He had been sent out a week ago to collect Intel, an easy enough job, one that was meant to earn him brownie points so he could start climbing up in reputation and efficiency, which of course led to more pay. The rules and guidelines had been simple enough, go out as soon as dark fell and watch a factory on the outskirts of Gotham, when the coast was clear, or as clear as could be, scout out the layout. The factory was one his boss believed to be one of Falcone's major bases, where he hid most of his cash and artillery. Cash and artillery his boss had been planning to swipe off the fat mob boss for the last month. A month worth of planning gone down the drain. Oh, he was in deep, deep shit when he told his boss what went down.

And of course he would get the blame, what were the chances his boss would believe what he had seen that night? Damn, he was still convinced he had been drugged and this whole night had just been one giant acid trip. How else would you explain a red-haired chick popping out of nowhere, killing seven of Falcone's best men, including his own nephew; Falcone would want revenge for that one, then somehow setting the whole building up in flames with nothing but a piece of wood and sometimes a flick of her hand? He had only just managed to get out in time before the thing exploded and the cops came. But then again, she did drive off in a police car after flipping the other cars with that stick thingy, with that bat freak after her, maybe if he was lucky, the news would cover it and at least lend some credibility to his high as fuck claims.

A hand landing on his shoulder made him jump and before he could turn around to see who it was, pointless really, he knew who it fucking was, he was being pushed over to the corner of the nightclub, the V.I.P section, then with an even more forceful push, he was forced to take a seat on one of the expensive white leather couches, an ornate glass table in front of him. Even over the bass of the music, he could hear the man's foot steps, the hand still on his shoulder as he walked around him, sliding into the seat next to him like a snake. Being greeted with that smile he knew too well, the man swallowed deeply.

"Johnny, johnny, johnny. Tell me you have a present, you know how much I just love gifts."

Johnny's heart stuttered in his chest, beating off rhythm, even missing a few as he stared at the man sitting so close to him, maniacal grin printed on his face, eyes glowing. He began stuttering before his mind could even form a sentence.

"I couldn't do it. I mean... I did but... This chick... Fire..."

The hand, still on his shoulder, slipped and slid until the Jokers fingers danced across the back of his neck, his hot palm resting there, his fingers wrapping gently around his neck, so long they touched his Adam's apple.

"Oh? Tell me Johnny boy, why is that?"

"I tried but... But... But"

The hand tensed, nearly strangling him, then he was being thrown forward, head smashing into the table, breaking the skin on his forehead. Whimpering out in pain, the world flashing around him, his vision was cut off when the joker stood, hand still pressing him into the table by his neck, bent in half and leant into his face, close, too close for comfort with that damn smile. Johnny broke, rambling out everything he could, his tongue twisting into knots in his haste.

"I couldn't because the base was blown to smithereens! It's gone!"

The joker laughed, using his other hand to flick Johnny on the nose like he was some puppy that had been caught pissing in the house. By now, Johnny's gut was in his feet and his heart was in his throat, his eyes clamping shut when he saw the Jokers head turn to the side in fake innocence and curiosity. That was never a good sign.

"How did that happen Johnny boy, hmmm? Now, now, don't go all princess on me. Tell daddy all about it."

"A woman! It was a woman! she just came out of nowhere boss. Really, nowhere, she just appeared! She killed Falcone's men after they threatened her. I don't know how, she just did. There were bright colours, screams, then the place was on fire and I ran! Please boss, you have to believe me! Check the news! She sped off in a cop car with Batman and at least half a dozen cop cars hot on her tail! Those asshole news reporters will be all over it. Please, I had to get out of there!"

Johnny's eyes screwed even further shut, nearly so tight he popped a blood vessel, his body seemingly curling in on itself as much as the table he was pressed against by the Joker would allow. The Joker's face inches from his own as his laughter rang out. Just as he thought this was it, just as his bowels were about to release, when he was sure the Joker was going to kill him, brutally by the looks of it, something else entirely happened. The Joker questioned him further, as if he actually believed any of what Johnny had told him, his normal sarcastic, erratic and humour filled tone completely missing. Johnny wasn't afraid to admit he wanted it back, especially when faced with this alternative.

"What did the lady look like Johnny?"

Johnny swallowed deeply, his tongue feeling like cotton, blinking his eyes open, he's words slurred due one of his cheeks being pushed so tightly against the glass, seconds away from shattering it.

"Short... Red hair... But not ginger, like... Deep red. Pale..."

The hand at his neck left, but Johnny didn't dare to move, he hardly dared to breath as the Joker brought his purple leather gloved hand around to his face, almost lovingly running his pointer finger up and over his right eyebrow, up his forehead, repeating the motion a few times. His stomach flipped flopped.

"Perhaps... Does this little spitfire have a scar? Just. Right. Here?"

Johnny nodded vigorously, still not moving a muscle to stand. You never did anything, even shit, without the Joker telling you could first. The consequences were disastrous.

"Yeah, odd thing. Shaped like a lightning bolt it was."

Then the crushing presence of simply being too close to the Joker was gone, finally allowing Johnny to breath freely. Although his booming laughter as he stood up and span in a circle, arms out wide as if open for attack, waiting for it, didn't ease Johnny any more than he got from being out of the Jokers face. One job, he had one job, how could he have messed it up so badly?

"Hey, Doll-face!"

Then, like coming out of the mist of flashing, pulsating lights and bodies, Harley Quinn appeared, smiling as insanely as her counter part was. It took no time for the woman to bound over to the Joker, get swept up in the Joker's arms, the two spinning around like some morbidly painted musical box couple.

"Yes Puddin'?"

Johnny took his chance while he could and slid off from the table, not quite brave enough to stand, not when he had no idea if he was in the clear or not, so he simply slumped to the floor, trapped between coach and table, wearily watching the couple who now looked to be doing some form of waltz, spinning in circles, hands on shoulders, waist and hands, Joker talking to a growingly excited Harley Quinn. He could practically feel the enthusiasm, joy and insanity seep out of them, infect the air and leach into his own blood. Johnny did what he did best, watch and listen.

"Tell the Goonies to stop digging Love bug. Looks like Dorothy has come back to Oz all on her own, and causing such pretty havoc at that. My favourite kind. Go get the best, Panda, eyeball and Chuckles will do. Just send them out prompto, we can't have the evil monkeys or the wicked bat of the west getting Dorothy before we can, now can we?"

Then the Joker was laughing that broken, jarring, escalating laugh, this time accompanied by Harley Quinn's own obnoxious giggles, and for a split second, just one, Johnny felt sorry for this poor woman who had these two gunning for her... And Falcone... And the Gotham police department... And Batman. Jesus, the girl better know how to run, and run fast. Funny, how the best option for her, it seemed, or the least detrimental would be to get arrested by the police.

"And you! You will go too! Hahahaaa."

Johnny snapped to and looked up, seeing the two had stopped dancing, now leaning against one another, Jokers cheek resting against the top of Harley Quinn's head, wrapped around one another, staring at him... The Joker pointing to him. Cursed. He had to be fucking cursed for this shit to keep happening to him.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go find Dorothy before my bullet finds your grey matter. Bring her back in one piece, not a curl out of place. You should know by now I don't like people scratching or marking my things, especially when they're only borrowed... Go!"

He took it back. He really hoped this woman couldn't run. His life depended on her capture. Johnny lurched up and stumbled for the door, not sparing a single glance backwards. Now he just had to find this woman that could, possibly, maybe, likely preform what looked like magic, contend with Batman, Falcone and the GPD and after all that, if his heart was still beating and his cheeks were still flushed, bring her back in one piece.

He was royally fucked.

* * *

A.N: There goes chapter two! _**did you like it? Or in the words of poor Johnny boy, have I royally fucked up?**_ As for when exactly this is set, its after all Harry Potter books/films but is pre-Suicide squad, or before Harley gets captured. I am hoping to work my way through the film, that is if people like my mad ramblings enough to egg me on.

On that note, I really, really, _really_ can't express how amazing the response to this unplanned, out of the blue story has been for me. Honestly, you guys have been the very best and lovely. I can't say a thank you big enough (Not over the computer anyway) but **THANK YOU**. You are the reason I'm even carrying this on and wondering where and how this is going to happen.

quick question, do you like the longer chapters? Or should I try and cut it down a bit?

However, quick warning before I carry on, if you do not like bisexuality, this is a Harley Quin/Harry/Joker fic after all, copious amounts of violence, profanity or any other M-rated material in your fanfiction, turn back while you still can! This will be the only warning I give out. Plus, I have no Beta what-so-ever, never have and unlikely ever will. So, any mistakes are all mine and will be corrected when I have the time.

Enough ranting on my part, once again THANK YOU and I hope you have a brilliant day. If you have a spare moment or two, please feed my muse and drop a review down in her food bowl, she's a greedy little thing and refuses to work on an empty stomach. I know, It's hard to get good hired help these days...

until next time, stay beautiful and marvellously mad!- AlwaysEatTheRude21


	3. Mary, Mary

**Mary, Mary, quite contrary...**

Harry furiously blinked as she staggered through the back door, shoulder hitting the door frame with a muted thud, fluorescent light stinging and momentarily blinding her as she sagged against the plastered wall, breath warm and moist as the door clicked closed behind her. Although, it could possibly be the blood dripping down into the crevice of her eyes that was obscuring her vision and not the lighting, but what was in the small details? She had been shot, knifed and was dangerously running low on stamina... And blood. Brilliant

 _Or was she?_

Was this some morose dream that her mind had built? Was she really lying in bed, cozy and warm and completely alone? Had she passed out in Aberforth's pub, drunk off unworded sorrows and burning fire whiskey? She remembered flashes of the last few hours, little picture shots taken from a shaky camera, that flared to life on her closed eyelids every time she blinked. Short movies that were fringed and crackling at the edges. Old and distorted. However, she couldn't remember anything else.

 _Snap._

She remembered being surrounded by men in funny uniforms, blue and black with pretty, shiny gold badges she had wanted to rip off their chest and cram down their throats. Flashing cars pulsing in waves of red and blue, thumping to the tempo of her own heartbeat, making her want to dance. She remembered sending a Bombarda their way and avidly watching as the flashing cars flipped and spun, the lights of blue and red swirling together looking like wonderful little fireworks in the vast and dark night... She remembered the splatter of crimson on pavement.

 _Snap._

Then she was somewhere else, still high, still not quite herself. She remembered sitting in the driver's seat of a car, expensive by the crisp feel of leather on fingertips, the creak when she wiggled, but the front windshield was blown out, shards of glass jutting and sprinkling into the air, raining over her like acid rain, biting, glitter she had wanted to bathe in. New gunshot wound on her top thigh, weeping blood, a hiss, a cackle. She remembered driving like a maniac to the backdrop of blaring sirens and screaming hoots of car horns, she had tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the song they were creating together. Havoc untamed and beautiful. There was no road, no chase, no cat and mouse, just the pound of her heart, the thrum of her blood, the sharp rights and lefts... The laughter. By Merlin had she laughed.

 _Snap._

Then she remembered being in the busy nightlife of a bustling city, no longer in the backstreets of an industrial estate, still in the same car as the sound of tearing metal ripped through the air and what sounded like her laughter, but distant, dissociated joined in the symphony. She remembered the flare of agony that jostled up her leg and gripped her core as a bloody bat-shaped throwing star lodged home in her calf, the side door of the car missing, silver wire attached as she was viciously pulled by her injured leg out of the fast moving vehicle.

 _Snap._

She remembered the crack of concrete to her head, she remembered the dizzying world spin around her, she remembered the man she had dreamed of before, the man like a bat but not a bat, a riddle wrapped in skin, features mixing and morphing like oil dropped into water. She. Didn't. Like. Him. She remembered that absolute rage that filtered through her, setting her on fire as he went to grab her. No more restraints. No more rules. No more people caging her. No!

 _Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap._

The shots of memories, reality, dreams, imagination, morbid fantasies, whatever it was came faster then, as if it was a tap that had been turned on fully, a constant stream of stills that was projected into her mind like a faulty silent movie. Grotesque. Vandalised. Abused. She was there, sending her fists flying, spells on the tip of her tongue, tasting like sweet poison, baiting her to say them... Scream them. She didn't know if she had or not and most worryingly, that didn't matter to her. Not anymore.

She was there biting and clawing as the man that was a bat lifted her up by her neck, trying fruitlessly to restrain her. She was there as she slid one of his knives off his belt and slid it home in a soft spot in his armor, a joint, just where shinguard met thigh guard, slicing through the knee. She was there as he fell, feeling the knife cut through tendon and muscle like butter, him grunting in pain as she grabbed his head and kept thrusting her knee up as she brought it down.

 _One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

She remembered him digging a finger into her injured thigh, her howling in pain as she too fell, her leg giving out as the fire inside her stoked higher as the pain climbed. She was there as they struggled on the damp and cold ground, she was there as he got the upper hand before she whipped her wand out, then blank.

 _Nothing. Silence. Emptiness._

The next thing she could recall was stumbling towards a towering white building that had ambulances out front, unaware muggles coming and going in a flurry of migration. Avoiding the main entrance, she had limped over to an emergency exit door on the side of the building, open a slither and staggered through, falling against the wall, breathing raspily, trying with all her might to gain her bearings. Nothing made sense, not in the hospital, not outside, not in her mind. Up was down, in was out, good was bad, it was like sanity was an ebbing wave, coming one moment to splash at her feverish skin and offering rest bit, only to leave her burning and boiling seconds later.

She couldn't remember if she killed the man that was a bat, nor how she got here, nor if she killed anyone else. She only remembered in flashes of spells and pain, the pain she had taken or pain she had given. It painted everything in vivid hues, so bright and colorful it hurt to remember. It hurt to try.

Harry clenched her eyes closed so tightly her nose scrunched up too, biting the inside of her cheek until copper hit her taste buds, forehead banging against the wall until she heard a crack, either her skull or wall splintering at the action, as everything, her mind, herself, her memories tortured her. Only then, huddled in that dim hallway, bruised, bleeding and alone did the snapping stop. Whether that snapping was chips of her psyche falling away or the knuckles she was hitting against the wall subconsciously was anyone's guess. Warm blood ran over her hands, dripping to the floor and it settled the beast inside her.

Was it real, was it not? Is this her or _him?_ A dream? A fantasy? She didn't know anything anymore and she felt the last bastions of her sanity begin to flicker, one by one going out like candles left in the blizzardous winter, the light being eaten by the gaping jaws of hungry wolves. All she could do was brokenly laugh. Did it matter anymore? No... No. Harry pulled away from huddling against the wall, pushing her hair back, smearing more blood across her forehead. Another trail. Another taint.

Who was she lying to? She had pretended to be sane from the very beginning. She was the great pretender. Pretending to be a savior, pretending to care, pretending to be like all the other sheep and cattle that roamed the world. Oh, there was no other greater pretender than she, not even good ol' Riddle. For he had shown his colors in the end, lifted his prey mask to show the world the real viper he was.

But for a time, he had pretended too. He had played the game, played his part so artificially, only now, Harry in the position he was in all those decades ago, did she wonder if it was all an act at all like Dumbledor had led her to believe, or had Riddle been truly trying to assimilate into a world that would never accept him... Just like she had tried and was failing at.

He had tried to force himself into normal life like she had spent her whole life trying to accomplish. He had worked, as a shopkeeper of all things, he had colleagues, he had been head boy. She wondered if he had felt as she felt now, in the throws of vertigo and disintegration, when he first took the muzzle off and came out of the shadows. She wondered whether he had been as confused as she was, lost somewhere in the vastness that was reality and your own mind's conjurings.

Harry huffled a chuckle, shoulder, and wounds searing as her body shook. Riddle would have been around the same age she was now when he had snapped and began the greatest war her world had ever seen. Heads and tails. Was this even her own life or just a two-bit copy of a distorted Tom Riddle? The only difference was even in the throws of his own insanity, Riddle had a plan, Harry... Harry had nothing but the want and need for more. More of what, she couldn't tell you, but it bubbled in her blood and sang a haunting tune in the base of her skull.

"Excuse me miss you shouldn't be down here... Jesus Christ... Miss, are you okay? What happened?"

Harry's eyes shot open as her head lolled onto the wall, her gaze landing straight on the person who stood a few feet from her, glassy eyes wide and filled with worry, hands coming to reach for her. Harry jerked backward, only barely managing to keep the snarl and growl from her voice box and face. She was a young thing, barely out of med-school, all strawberry blonde hair and nurses uniform. Innocent, pure, hopeful... Easy to manipulate. Stomp on the snow. Dirty the white.

 _Prey._

Harry blinked rapidly, forcing tears to her eyes as she sniffled and hugged herself closer, hunching her shoulders down and curling in on herself. People were just like animals really, you acted like an injured deer, they would help. They never thought they were actually dealing with a shark salivating at their presence. Make yourself small, cry and look as week as possible and people just leapt at the chance to play good samaritan. Easy. Too easy. _Not enough!_

Avoiding eye contact, Harry leaned heavier on the wall, stuttering through her words and adding a cough at the end for good measure. She may have no plan, no goal, but if anything could be said for Harry Potter was she was brilliant at thinking on her feet.

"Please... Please, you have to help. Men... There were men, they... An alley... My bag... I couldn't fight... I-... I-..."

The little sparrow of a nurse jumped onto her web and guzzled on the fake seeds Harry had offered her with an open palm, too naive to see the smirk crawling at the edges of her lips. Jogging over, her heels obnoxiously clacking on the tacky linoleum, Harry regretfully let the cretin touch her, fingers too hot as they flittering across the skin of her face. She had never been so good with touch, it always felt so invasive, too personal, too close. Touch lead to hurt, anger and death. Vernon had touched her when he had beaten her, Voldemort had touched her on the numerous times he tried to kill her, Snatchers had touched her when they tried to drag her to her supposed death. Sirius's fingertips had ghosted across hers before he had died.

But Harry was no healer and with no clue where she was, what she had done, she didn't know who was enemy or friend. Harry repressed the chuckle from the thought. The time she had a friend would be the day. The truth was Harry needed help, she doubted this little snow white would offer that if she told her she had just gone on a black out rampage. That is, if she had indeed done what she thought she had and this was all real.

"Oh, you poor thing! Here, come to the front desk with me, I'll get you to a room with a doctor in no time."

Harry stilled for a split second before scuttling back, violently shaking her head, her mop of bloodstained curls falling and curtain off her face, hiding her too aware eyes from view. It was all too easy. Too easy to lure the nurse, too easy to act the victim, too easy to play on her weakness's, because Harry knew them from the get go. She was good at reading people and this little lamb wore her heart on her sleeve. Single child Harry would guess, working class family, big heart, a child who grew up wanting to help the people around her, to make the world better, new to the job by the pristine uniform and none fading of it's bright white, not a hair out of place, first shift. And she had the misfortune to run into Harry, if she was capable anymore, Harry would feel sorry for the woman. But she didn't, she just wanted to get this over with and her patience was wearing thin.

"No!... No, please. The men, they said they would find me... I can't... My mother and father, they'll get hurt... Please, can't you help me? There must be somewhere safe we can go? Somewhere they won't find me... You'll help me won't you?"

 _Somewhere they won't find the woman's body if things went downhill._ In this world Harry found herself adrift in, a world true or of her own making, Harry was no longer who she had been. She was new, broken, lonely... Free. Chains unlinked. She was over being the one manipulated, now she was the puppet master. A dreamer all alone.

Poor woman, she never stood a chance, not as Harry watched, as she expected, the woman's eyes lit up and a smile edged its bettings on her face. She had become a nurse to help, a little bit of a hero complex Harry could fester into and use against her. Infectious, Harry was a disease they had no antibiotics for, no knowledge of. After today, if the woman lived, then she would never be the same again, stained and jaded, that was what Harry did. What she was good at. Tainting.

 _Snap._

"Okay... Okay, right, yes. Of course, I'll help you... There's a little examination room that no one uses anymore just down here, follow me."

Bingo. The little rabbit had hopped straight into the snare. The woman turned around and began to usher Harry to follow, turning her back on the witch. She never saw Harry brush her hair out of her face, never saw Harry's shoulders straighten, never saw the limp lesson nor the knife like glint in Harry's eyes as she prowled behind her. If this was real or not, Harry could never go back.

Not only would the ministry skin her alive, making a show of her, something they had always been itching to do, she had no one back home to go home to, no family, no friends, nothing. However, most importantly, Harry didn't want to go back. She wouldn't go back. And no longer... No fucking longer would she be doing things she didn't want to do. No longer would she wear the sheep's skin. She was done pretending. Make believe time was over. It was time to look into the mirror and see her as she truly was, stage make-up, broken hero costume and wig gone.

They, the Weasley's, Hermione, the whole wizarding world wanted old Harry, the mask she wore, the pseudonym, they kept trying to shove her into a skin that didn't fit. Harry had morphed, had changed and really, they only had themselves to blame. They were, after all, the ones to force her to become this... Whatever this was, to save them and their own pitiful world.

The day burned her, turned her to ash, the light too harsh and cold, maybe it was time to try living in the night, the comforting black, where she belonged. Aberforth had told her it was only a matter of time anyway, what was the point in keeping up the good fight when losing was in the cards, stars, destiny anyway? At that moment, anticipation bubbling in her gut as she stalked the woman to the door down the hallway, Harry had never thought loosing felt so incredibly good. The winner didn't take it all, the winner had to live up to expectations, rules and laws not their own. The looser, now there was the real winner in life.

The door opened with a squeak and by the time the nurse glanced over her shoulder to smile reassuringly at Harry, Harry was back to the helpless victim who couldn't stand straight, tear tracks on her face, cold and void of any real emotion. The woman edged into the abyss, seconds later a fluorescent bar light flickering to life, painting the clinical lines and tools in bleached white.

The room was medium, two beds cut off from each other by a sheer curtain, a tray of wrapped tools on a chrome wheeler, cupboards and draws on one end, a sink too and oddly enough, a T.V perched on the wall, old, square and bloody white like everything else. Harry loathed white. She wanted to burn the room down, just to see the white crackle, bubble and charcoal to black, the pureness and cleanness forever gone. Just like what the wizarding world and it's fucking wars had done to her.

"Please don't be shy, I won't hurt you. Come in, sit down here and I'll patch you up in no time."

Harry gave a jerky nod, taking small steps into the room and sinking onto the linen covered bed that was closest to the door, looking up through her lashes at the woman standing before her, eye's mimicking the woman's, wide and innocent, like a mirror reflecting back what the woman wanted to see, not what was really in front of her. A killer with a hinged mind, a killer flickering between reality and dreamscape, a killer with no plan... The most dangerous.

Harry kept up the charade as the nurse went about her injuries, first the two in her legs, then the cut on her head, then finally the gunshot through her shoulder. Harry made sure to whimper when necessary, sprinkled with sniffles and ouches, even going as far as bashfully asking the woman's name, a boring, plain and mundane Mary as it turned out... It suited her. Everything was going peachy, the woman looking for all intents and purposes like she would be walking out this room by the end and not bleeding out on the floor. Until the idiot got the idea of putting the damned T.V on.

"Here, let me turn the T.V on, distract you from the pain as I sew up the wound, it's pretty deep. You've done ever so well. It can't be easy without any anaesthetic"

The woman backed up and turned towards the T.V, strolling towards it, angering Harry when her words fell on deaf ears. Her fist's clenched and wound into the linen beneath her, a snarl twisting on her lips as she glared at the woman's back. She was done being not listened to. Mary was pushing her luck, and let's face it, she didn't have much luck by running into Harry in the first place.

"No, it's fine. Honestly,-"

 _Snap._

"Don't be silly. It's no problem."

The T.V crackled in static before it fixed itself, showing a news reporter as the nurse turned the volume up before coming back over, opening a new needle and thread before setting back to work. Harry sat stonily still, eye's focused on the T.V as it showed a replay of an aerial recording of a car chase through the city, the scene cutting back to the news reporter, a bubbly blonde with too much mascara.

Harry's eyes slowly slid shut as her high pitched voice filtered into the room, filling the silence. The insipid nurse didn't even recognize when the needle slid through peach skin that there were no dramatic flinches, no ooh's or ow's. No, the rabbit ignored the wolf that had stopped playing sheep. How very, very foolish.

"Yet again the streets of Gotham are in turmoil as a city wide manhunt took place earlier this night. Reports state it all started when the Johnson's petroleum factory was set ablaze, likely from a bomb due to the devastation of the area. Gotham PD was fast on the scene, only to run into another problem. According to the few statement's we have gathered, a woman in her late teens or early twenties was the perpetrator. When the police arrived on the scene, a shootout took place that sadly led to the death of five officers."

The screen cut off to a slow tune, forcing Harry's eyes to open, the black and white photo's of smiling officers fading in and out on screen, there names scrolling across the screen at the bottom. Harry looked every single photo in the eye, soaking in the smiling faces, the twinkling eyes, imprinting their names into her memory and waited for that crunch of her gut to taunt her... It never came.

She felt nothing. No guilt. No shame. No remorse. She felt... Hollow yet filled with bubbling energy. Anticipation. She wanted more and more and more. She only felt upset when the pictures ended, when no more dead were shown. Just five. Five bright lights extinguished. Gone forever... It wasn't enough.

All of a sudden, she remembered that nursery rhyme that helped little snot nosed brats learn to count. _One, two, three, four five... Once I caught a fish alive..._ Harry gave a raspy chuckle that thankfully hid as a wheeze. She was no fish, she was the great white. No one had stood a chance.

"Such a shame isn't it. The madness that goes-"

"Shut up."

The nurse pulled the last stitch closed, blinking owlishly as Harry snapped at her, Harry's eyes never leaving the T.V, causing the bewildered woman to turn and watch the news show too. All too soon the news reporter came back, grim-faced and pale. A flash of the blonde woman jumped into her mind's eye, pale, drained, sallow... Throat slit. It felt like Harry was having dreams in her dream, a painting of a painting, on and on and on.

"This is where witness accounts become odd. What we do know is the perpetrator then took off in a car, leading to more confrontation between the pursuing police and even the intervention of the masked Vigilante known as Batman. As you will see in the following footage, the woman was armed with an unknown weapon, a weapon that seemed to cause bright lights and multiple tasks. Viewer discretion is advised."

The screen cut off again, showing a grainy, silent CCTV footage of her and the man... Batman fighting, her wand going off, her knifing him. Then the wand, her wand as she whipped it towards him, red light blazing and flaring hitting the vigilante in the chest, him crumbling to the floor with a muted unheard scream. She saw herself keep the spell up, even as she limped over to bare down on the writhing body. She knew then what spell she had used, knew only one red shade like that, knew only one that would crumble a fully grown man. Crucio.

 _Snap._

Harry's head cocked to the side as she stared at the T.V, no disgust or sorrow showing, just a sense of satisfaction at the way the man on the t.v rolled and squirmed and silently cried, jerking in odd angles. She was sick. So very, very sick. No hospital was going to cure her... In that moment, faced with what she had done, feeling the way she was, exhilarated and so alive, Harry didn't want to get better. Diseased and rotting... She was too far gone. Then the screen cut back to the blonde woman and Harry almost wanted to scream for it to go back to the CCTV footage.

"From there the woman disappeared, but as you can see she is armed and highly dangerous. Police have warranted a red alert. If you encounter her, do not approach, leave and please ring the GPD as soon as possible. From the few eye witness's that were close enough and the lucky few who survived this terrible incident, a sketch artist has drawn up a likeness. And on the recent investigation by our journalist, have garnered what they believe the woman's name is, though it may be just an alias."

The screen split in half, one-half still showing the news reporter who was nattering away and the other half filled with a drawn mugshot, a boldly printed name blocked at the bottom. To be fair, they had gotten extremely close to what she looked like, lightening bolt scar and all, especially seen as Mary, Mary quite contrary staggered a gasp as it was Harry's colored and drawn face that filled the screen. Then Harry read the name and her temper shattered, it seemed the mascarade show of a victim of a mugging was over, especially as Mary swirled to face her, hands clutched to her chest, shakily backing up and away, foolishly blocking herself into a corner and not running for the door, not even bothering to pick up a weapon from the foray on the metal table by her side. Although, that wouldn't have gotten her very far either. The news reporters words still filled the room as Harry avidly watched.

"There has been speculation she is in league with some of our better-known criminals, Penguin or The Joker, none have yet been confirmed by the police. However, there has been speculation that this was a hit against well-known mob boss, Falcone and will incure a turf war and retribution. So please be careful in the streets over the following weeks. If you see anything suspicious, please do not hesitate to inform the GPD. We can only hope this woman is caught soon before she can strike again. Stay safe citizens of Gotham."

Harry accio'd a scalpel from the little tray and lobbed it at the T.V, watching as the glass broke and rained down, the scalpel stuck true in the mess, her voice taking on a gruff edge, no longer stuttering, nervous or weak. Mary flinched and began to shake, unfortunately bringing Harry's gaze to her instead of on the T.V.

"My name is fucking Harry, not bloody Dorothy!"

Huffing and rolling her eyes as Marry tried to skirt around her to the door, Harry hopped off the bed and sidestepped to the entrance, kicking it shut behind her with a backward kick, watching as tears began to well up in Mary's eyes.

"Don't bloody cry! I haven't hurt you so far have I? Grow some balls Mary."

Mary wasn't prepared when Harry slid her wand free from her arm holster and shot an immobulus to her, watching as Mary went as stiff as a board and crashed to the floor, eyes flickering around her in a panic that she suddenly found herself unmoveable. Harry strolled over, watching Mary as she scanned her up and down.

"Just a little test you see, just to make sure."

Of course, Mary didn't say anything, she couldn't. But Harry needed to see, needed to test whether it had been a fluke when she was watching the recording or cold fact now. After all, emotions were such funny things and what pictures failed to bring to life, surely the reality would. She needed to see if she really was void of regret and compassion anymore, especially seen as she felt absolutely nothing of the sort during that whole damned report. Eye's landing on the woman's legs, Harry brought her good leg up and sent it crashing down on the limb, hearing and feeling the bone shatter underneath her boot...Snap.

 _Nothing._

Harry boisterously laughed, nearly crying with the joke of it all. The savior of the wizarding world, the girl who had defeated Voldemort with the power of _Love_... Love she could no longer feel. Oh, Tom would be proud indeed. This was just another reason of why she could never go back. Another fracture in her mind, another inch to the crevice that separated her from everyone else. Gone. Harry was dead.

Harry had died the first time she had apparated into this putrid place called Gotham. Who she was, who this new person was, this beast wearing her face, well, it was anyone's guess. All she knew as she gazed down at Mary, wordlessly releasing the spell and watching and listening to the nurse cry out and scream in pain, trying to crawl away, was Harry wasn't done yet. She would never be done. The world would pay ten-fold for every bruise, scrap or knick she had ever had to endure and unfortunately for Mary, she would be the first to cash in on that debt.

"Nope. It's all gone. Well, that's sure a shame for you. Yeah, If I was in your shoes, I'd start crying too."

Harry squatted down, wrapping a hand around the woman's good ankle, tugging her back as she cried louder, flailing her arms and good leg. Harry none too gently flipped her over with a slam of her kick, jamming her wand underneath the woman's chin, forcing the blonde to look at her, nose snotty, eyes swollen, stuttering in breaths as she stared back, trying to hold as still as possible now Harry had her pinned, swinging a leg over to sit on the woman's chest, unforgivingly crushing her into the concrete ground.

"Madness, I've found, is like a bloody staircase. You know that poem don't you, about the spider and the fly. No?"

The woman shook harder with sobs as she shook her head in the negative to the best of her ability. Harry dug the tip of her wand deeper into the soft underjaw flesh, smiling when the woman flinched in pain. Harry had been pinned before, just like this by snatchers... It felt euphoric to be on the other end, to be the tormentor instead of the tormented.

"Well, it's fucking been stuck in my head for months. Will you walk into my parlor? said the Spider to the Fly, Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy; The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, and I've many curious things to show when you are there. Oh no, no, said the little Fly, to ask me is in vain, For who goes up your winding stair -can ne'er come down again. Of course, in the end, the little moronic fly goes up the stairs and doesn't ever come down again. No. Life is that God damned web, the stairs are death and madness and we, us, humans are the poor fucking flies that get pushed and teased and baited up the stairs with pretty rotting promises. Do you want to know how you don't end up like the little fly? You become the spider..."

The woman's eyes slammed shut as the sobs wracked her form. Harry, in turn, crouched up, resting on her knees, towering over the woman's quaking form, lifted her foot and kicked the woman's broken leg, watching as she howled but unable to move from the wand jarred in the bottom of her face. Harry's own injuries were pushed to the back of her mind, she was good with pain, she knew how to handle it. Uncle Vernon had taught her that lesson. Her heel dug in further, eliciting a scream from the woman trapped beneath her.

Vernon, Draco, Dumbledore, Voldemort, Bellatrix, it was a never ending cycle of abuse and manipulation. Another would try and come, another set of hands to sculpt her into what they wanted only to discard her once she had run her usefulness. Harry wouldn't let that happen. She would be the one twisting, fisting, bending and morphing, breaking, cracking the clay of people around her. It was the name of the game, Harry found. Do or die and Harry was bloody itching to do.

"Please... Stop... You don't have to do this!"

Harry leaned in closer, lips nearly kissing the woman's as Mary blinked open, eyes bloodshot and scared, pupils like pricks in a sea of gray. Sirius had gray eyes, but he had left. Just like everyone else. He too had left his fingerprints on her psyche, fingerprints Harry wanted to scrub out but couldn't.

"You're right, I don't have to... But I want to. I really want to."

Harry drawled as she pulled her wand back, pushing to a stand. Staring down at Mary, she sighed forlornly, as if she felt sorry for what was happening, though she didn't. Sanity, Harry thought, was like a pane of glass. People, they were the bastards that left-hand prints and marks upon it until you could no longer see through the glass, until all it felt like was a rolling wall of fog was inside your brain that you constantly had to try and out run. Harry wasn't running any longer, no, she let the fog swallow her whole and for once, she felt complete, untamed... True.

 _Snap._

Marry unfortunately still had that clear pane of glass she could see through. Not for long. Harry would show her, it was better in the fog. But, it had to be her choice, had to be her that stepped in and saw the muggy wonders in her distorted Oz.

"You should have listened to me and not turned the fucking T.V on. Now look, you've given me three options and none look pretty for you I'm afraid. So, what do you want to be? A spider, a fly or the staircase?"

Harry was a spider now, the thing that stood upon the webbed staircase of madness and death and lured up the pretty jewel colored flies. Mary could be a spider too, given a good imperious thrown in. Harry doubted, what with that news report she had just seen, that others wouldn't try and come for her. What had that blonde bint called it? A city wide manhunt. Mary could never be a real spider, not like Harry, not with the way she was pleading and begging for mercy, but she could be a good distraction to throw at the muggles while Harry got away if they came that close.

Harry's thumb stroked the wood of her wand, her fingers clenching around the polished wood. It wasn't really a choice she was offering poor Mary, more of an option of how she bowed and left the game. What spell would be the aimed at her in the next five minutes?

"Please, I don't want to be a spider or a fly... Don't do this-"

"Staircase it is."

Harry leaned back over the woman, settling onto her chest, getting comfy for the time this would take. Grabbing her face harshly with bruising fingers, pointing her wand at Mary's temple, locking eyes, Harry growled two words in quick succession.

"Ligilimens... Obliviate..."

After all, to be mad, you couldn't have Happy memories getting in the way. And as Harry flickered through the woman's memory like a flip book, wiping out all the cheery, yellow tinged memories, Harry chuckled. It seemed the woman wouldn't have many memories left after this.

One hour later and a babbling Mary left prone and bent ugly on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling, repeating the nursery rhyme Harry had sung in her mind while destroying all she had been, all she could be and everything she was, Harry slid her jacket back on, fixed her clothes with a quick reparo and slid out the door. The keys to Mary's car swinging around her fingers as she hummed along to the same little song Mary was brokenly whispering.

"Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockleshells, and pretty maids all in a row."

And if, if Harry had heard the faint wind of a chuckle and laugh that sounded like it belonged to Tom Riddle brush against the shell of her ear, if she thought she saw him, all human and bright red eyed in the corner of her vision, smiling and clapping, foaming for an encore, who was she to argue? Harry was, after all, whittled down to her marrow and spinal cord was Tom Riddles finest creation, his heir, his adversary, his mirror image.

What was real and imaginary didn't matter anymore. It didn't fraction into any of her choices. Reality, in short, was just how one person viewed their world. Perception. Harry saw in blood and death, had since her first memory of that flash of horrific green and her mother's dying scream. Weren't you meant to live by your reality? Not dreams conjured up by desperation? Harry's dream had been fitting in, being the good little witch everyone wanted her to be, the white knight they all had thought she was. Her reality was, however, was this, all this and so much more. Her reality was sacrifice, death, pain, loss and hatred... And apparently Dorothy now.

Now, what did that news reporter say about a retaliation by Falcone? Maybe she should deal with that. However, as she strolled across the parking lot following the beep Mary's car keys created, she realized she should, perhaps, deal first with the man in the black ford mondayeo, equally shit at hiding his thoughts, that was watching her and following her. With a crack of aparation, Harry ended up in his passenger seat.

"Hello Johnny."

"Oh, fucking shit!"

* * *

 **A.N:** It's been a long, long, long time coming and I'm so sorry for such a wait, but life, the little bitch that it is, had to pop it's head out and put it's two cents in. I hope this chapter makes up for it as it's the longest one to date! And fear not beautiful readers, Joker, Harley and Harry are reunited next chapter! I hope you're as excited as I am!

Chapter notes: The nursery rhyme **Mary, Mary quite contrary,** is actually an old English rhyme. Its original meaning is debated but the popular opinion is that it was about Queen bloody Mary and her torturing innocent protestants. Silver bells and cockleshells actually being torture devices. As Harry was torturing an innocent muggle, I thought it fit really well. As well as the spider and the fly poem mirroring how like the fly won't come back down the stairs, Harry can't come back from what she's done and what she's become.

 **QUESTIONS:**

 **Will Harry have an Animagus?**

I'm honestly not too sure yet, but I am tossing the idea around and it could play an interesting point in the plot. What do you guys think, and if she is an Animagus, what form do you think she should take?

 **Harry seems to be having outburst, going from 0 to 100 in a split second?**

This is purpousfully done. Harry, the way I'm having her written, is slowly loosing her mind, though she won't completely lose it. With people who have a psychotic episodes, the littlest things will trigger an episode. Same with manic depression or bipolar disorder. So, while it seems weird Harry went from relatively annoyed at Hermione and other instances, and then completely snapped, calling her a mudblood, it fits in with how unhinged she is actually becoming. Just another sign her 'friends' have overlooked or written off.

 **Your sentances are too long with too many comma's, why?**

The way I like to write chapters is to put a person in the characters shoes without having to go the whole first person route. This is how I do it. At the moment, with how fragile Harry's mind is, in documented cases I've read, people often have rambling throughts that just bleed into other things and don't stop. A endless cycle so to speak. I also have sentances that have just a single word in them. Another sign of mental instability. This is why, in this fic atleast, it seems snappy in some places, where in others it just doesn't stop. I wanted to give that vibe of insanity subtly. I hold my hands up though, I may have gone overboard, I'm a rambler myself, so I will try and keep it in check.

 **Is Harry loosing her mind?!**

A little bit, yes. XD

I'm not going the full road and making her Bellatrix level of insanity, although, like this chapter, she will be having episodes like it, but in others she will be seemingly normal. I think this will make the story all the more interesting and give Harry a sense of danger from other characters. After all, if one person is placid in one situation and then completly insane in the next, it leaves other people off balance at their unpredictability. That's what I'm really aiming for with my Fem!Harry in this fic.

 **Is Harry going back to Britian?**

I think this chapter answers that as a solid no XD. However... Involuntarily? Perhaps...

 **Are we going to get batman?**

Yes. Yes. Yes. I love batman and I can't have Harley Quinn and Joker without him. That being said, Batman doesn't appear for a while yet. Their will be mentions of him, like this chapter, but he won't make a solid appearance for a few chapters yet.

 **Is Gotham in another dimension or just a part of America?**

In this fic, Gotham is a part of America and not some alternate dimension or timeline. As Gotham is in America, so is the wizarding world. In this, they share the same universe.

 **Is Harry going to join the suicide squad?**

No. She won't, however, she does play a big role in the twist to the film I've come up with and later, I will be going through the films plot. She won't be a part of the suicide squad though.

 **A HUGE, BIG, GLITTER COVOURED THANK YOU** to everyone that reviewed. Honestly, you guys are the reason I'm keeping this story going. You give me encouragement, inspiration and the drive to actually break out of my shell and actually write something. I can't thank you all enough. Thank you too to those who followed and favourited, I hope you're all enjoying this as much as I am writing it!

As always, **please leave a review** , let me know your thoughts and if I'm hitting the mark or not XD. And until next time, Stay beautiful! ~AlwaysEatTheRude21


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